


fxck your selfie

by uumiho



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Explicit Illustration, Frottage, Illustrated, M/M, Oral Sex, Photography, Scopophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumiho/pseuds/uumiho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat gets a new smartphone. Dave is quick to show him the highest virtues of modern technology - aka. sexy selfies.</p>
<p>Featuring a fucktonne of really gay illustrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fxck your selfie

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [my very good bro](http://thisisnotthepornyouarelookingfor.tumblr.com) from the davekat discord. /thumbs up

“I promise, dude,” Dave had said, “Once you have your own smartphone you’ll literally never want to look at that weird crab monstrosity again.”

“Don’t talk about my husktop like that,” Karkat had sighed, but he was intrigued, though he didn’t admit it. A small crowd followed himself, Terezi, and Nepeta in to get their first bits of human technology, and no sooner than the iPhone was placed in his hands, he was immediately mauled by everyone who wanted to introduce him to their favourite apps (he suspected mostly to hear him trash talk them). Snapchat? Juvenile. Tinder? What the absolute fuck. Those adult colouring apps? More Nepeta’s thing than his. Humans were ridiculous.

He failed to really see the advantage over his husktop, other than compactness, until Dave got him alone and introduced him to Instagram, followed by a bunch of other niche recording and capture apps. Aesthetics were more Dave’s thing than his, but he privately liked seeing Dave so enthusiastic about something, so he dissed everything he was shown good-naturedly and sat patiently as Dave flipped through his own phone to show him some of his own stuff, explaining shit like tilt shift and filters and the importance of angles and why you look great in the mirror but not on camera.

Through Dave’s whole tirade, Karkat doesn’t think he notices when he flips past at least two (2) pictures of his dick, one (1) picture of him sucking someone else’s dick, and at least four (4) different angles of his clothed boner. Karkat notices, though. Oh, does he notice.

He notices enough to steal Dave’s phone when Dave says he’s going to download some apps (and delete some that the others put on there, tch) and takes _Karkat’s_ phone. Karkat looks innocent and doesn’t turn bright red when he stumbles upon an entire fucking _photoshoot_ of Dave fucking himself in the ass with a vibrator. How did he even get those angles by himself? Would knowing the answer ruin the mystery? Yet to be determined.

Karkat smoothly exits out of the folder when Dave switches their phones back, and goes the rest of the session without blowing his cover. He lasts through two rounds of MarioKart and between fifteen minutes and a half hour of Dave swearing at the clickers in Last Of Us. Dave’s not actually that good at videogames. Rose and John are way better.

It’d be smoothest to wait until Dave ragequit and then pounce, but Karkat isn’t exactly known for his smooth nature. In fact, he’s known for quite the opposite of that, so he waits for Dave’s character to get violently mauled, turns toward Dave and his frustrated moue, and says: “So, do you want to stop being fucking worthless at that and suck my bulge instead?”

Dave stops, and blinks, and although it’d be impossible for him to know Karkat’s ulterior motives, Karkat is irrationally paranoid that he’ll figure it out anyway, like the memory of him flipping absently past pictures of his boner will magically pop back into his mind and he’ll call Karkat a lech for getting off on his beautifully rendered cumshots and nope the fuck out.

Fortunately, that doesn’t happen.

“...okay, first of all, excuse you. Second of all, I thought you’d never ask.”

Ha.

He feels like he should wait, or something, or maybe ask, but as they’re pre-game making out, Karkat can’t help but focus on the weight of the iPhone in his pocket. His fingers glance over the rectangular shape as Dave’s fingers glance over his grubscars, making him shudder. Dave gets Karkat’s shirt off and Karkat sucks a vicious hickey into Dave’s neck and the iPhone makes an appearance because it _needs_ to, okay?

“Dude,” says Dave, “are you really checking your phone right now?”

“Shut up and wait,” Karkat says, claws clicking on the screen as he fiddles with it to find the app.

“What are you doing?” Dave whines, fidgeting. Karkat almost laughs at how impatient he is, but he’s too busy wanting to smash the stupid brand new iPhone for not cooperating with— ah! There it is. He clicks it with triumph and then gives Dave a pinched look.

“Smile?” he suggests, and snaps a picture without waiting for a response. It turns out horrible, because Dave is making a slackjawed surprised just-about-to-talk face, and Karkat wrinkles his nose and deletes it.

“Karkat?”

“I’m serious, jackass, smile,” Karkat says again, and this time gives Dave a second before snapping the picture. Dave looks more bashful than seductive, but that’s fine. (His bulge is churning in his pants and he pretends to ignore it.)

For a second it seems like Dave is going to protest, but then he reaches over and grabs Karkat’s wrist, repositioning the phone. “Like that,” Dave says, voice quiet and husky. “Now.” He draws back, and Karkat waits, and he fidgets, and bites his lip a bit and— _chhk_. Got it. Ah, that one’s good. It’s a satisfying feeling, seeing that frozen image of what he’s looking at in real life: Dave chewing on his lip apprehensively, hair mussed and throat marked. Karkat approves.

Karkat swallows. “More?” he asks. Dave nods, almost imperceptibly. He seems shy at first, with Karkat watching him, watching him _squirm_ and waiting for good moments, snapping shots without warning. Dave is beet red behind his thousands and thousands of freckles, and when he plucks at his shirt, Karkat snaps another shot. “Can you, uh,” Karkat hedges, not sure how to ask or direct. “Pull… at it?” It’s very unhelpful as far as suggestions go, but Dave seems to get it. He tugs down on his collar, lifting his chin to expose older, yellow-green bruises from marks Karkat left days before. Dave marks up so well, he can’t really be blamed.

Teeth marks disappear so fast and Karkat gets a heady rush thinking that he’ll be able to preserve them now—not that he won’t be equally inclined to just replace them with more, but. But pictures! Shit.

Click, click. Dave chewing on the side of his thumb. Click. Dave flicking his tongue out over the pad of his thumb. Click. Dave sticking one of his own fingers in his mouth, sucking on it real slow— Damn. Okay. Karkat needs that to be his bulge, like, immediately. He sets his phone carefully aside but still within reach and lunges at Dave, pushing him onto his back and climbing on him. He covers his neck and shoulders in more love marks, even biting one of his nipples through his shirt, and then Karkat gets another idea and grabs his phone, and spends extra time positioning a shot of his knees on either side of Dave’s chest, hand rucking up his shirt to expose his flat, toned belly and one nipple, a ring of indents burning an angry red around it. Haaaaa. Yeah. Okay.

Dave struggles out of the shirt and Karkat snaps a few more pictures. They don’t come out fantastic—little blurry, actually, but he keeps them. Dave lies beneath him, panting, and— yeah, that one’s good. He arches his back and Karkat almost groans just from how amazing he looks through the camera. He takes three shots from slightly different angles and prays they turn out decent.

“Hey,” says Dave, nudging him back. “Hey,” he says again, softer, and grabs Karkat’s phone from him. He doesn’t let Karkat go far, sitting up just enough so they can get chest-to-chest, and with only a few glances he lines up the phone to capture them both perfectly and then— fuck, leans forward, _bites_ Karkat’s lower lip and _tugs_ , and Karkat hears the shutter snap knowing it’ll have caught his expression of genuine surprise and arousal. Dave’s next shot is gonna be blurry because Karkat pounces on him, but he still hears at least four more shutter sounds as they kiss hard. They break away and Dave leans his forehead against Karkat’s, sends the camera a smouldering look— takes the shot, then hands the phone back to Karkat.

Deep breath.  

“Want to… keep going?” he asks.

Dave huffs a breathless laugh. “ _Fuck_ yes.”

Karkat gets some preliminary shots of his hand on Dave’s crotch, thumb riding the seam his dick makes under the denim. He gets a picture of Dave gasping, and then one of him unzipping his jeans, another of him grabbing his bulge through his boxers, pulling them down to expose the swollen head of Dave’s human bulge, already dripping with excitement. Karkat hands the phone to Dave, who seems to intuit without any help what he’s going for, and leans down to lap the precum off the tip of his cock. Shutter sound. Oh god, he hopes he didn’t look stupid. How does Dave even do this so easily?

“Babe,” Dave whispers, “Can you— like, kiss it? An’ look at me?” He’s sure his face is bright red but Karkat obeys, looking straight into the lens as he presses his lips to the damp head of Dave’s cock. Two sounds this time, and Dave bites his lip. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Pressing his lips together, quietly pleased, Karkat gives Dave one more little lick and then pulls away, because he doesn’t really feel that comfortable being the subject and Dave already promised to suck _his_ bulge, alright? There’s always time for other shit later. Dave squirms out of his pants once Karkat has given him enough room to do so, but he leaves his boxers on. Karkat doesn’t complain, just takes the phone back and snaps yet another picture of Dave’s dick pressing through fabric like a very sexy battering ram. Or maybe just like an overeager teenager. Whatever.

Karkat takes the opportunity to divest himself of his own pants, and is thankful that no one has the phone and his awkward shuffling won’t be immortalized in pixels. Now, boxers… Oh god.

Dave has slid onto the floor and has his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxer briefs, head cocked to the side, lips pursed and a bit shiny, like he just licked them. Karkat can’t take the picture fast enough. He takes several more as Dave (fuck) touches himself, running his hands over his bare chest, pinching his own nipples, grabbing his balls through his underwear. He loves how Dave warms up to it, how eager he is for the camera, how he seems to glow every time Karkat smirks in appreciation at a good shot.

He tries to talk, but at first his throat is painfully dry. He swallows and murmurs, “Are you ready?” Biting his lip again, Dave nods, and reaches for Karkat’s knees.

He spreads them, takes shot after shot as Dave kisses the side of his knee, pouts with his palms rubbing up Karkat’s thighs, opens his mouth promisingly and sticks his tongue between two of his fingers. He hesitates when he focuses fully on the writhing demon in Karkat’s boxers, and Karkat takes the initiative to grab him (gently) by the hair, pulling him forward until his lips are in range, pressing against him through the fabric. Karkat has to switch the view on the camera so he can still see, and then he gets a few pictures of that, with Dave first looking up at him, then at the camera.

Dave really mashes his face in then, Karkat’s bulge curling against his forehead (soaking his boxers through) as Dave licks over where his nook is, teasing, fluttering glances, ah. “Get these off me,” Karkat grunts, rolling his hips involuntarily.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Dave responds, pulling his face away and grabbing for Karkat’s waistband. He has to put the phone down, bracing his weight so he can lift his hips to help Dave out, but then his bulge is free and squirming and Dave’s looking at it like he’s starving and Karkat hurries to grab his phone before anything changes. He misses the moment by half a second— not a bad shot, but it could have been better.

Onward, though.

Fuck, he’s going to be punished for this by karma, but— “Don’t,” he stutters out, “Don’t use your hands.” Dave meets his gaze; swallows, then nods, expression determined. _Click_. Okay.

Dave very deliberately puts a hand on either of Karkat’s thighs, squeezing gently, and then makes eye contact as he leans in and— ffffffffuck, it just smears itself over his face, streaking red over his white eyelashes, over his lips. Karkat trembles as he takes this picture, and shakes more when Dave opens his mouth, waiting patiently for Karkat’s bulge to just _seek him out_ , ready to plunge deep.

He gets an idea and, shit, good idea, why didn’t he— no, this is fine, just like this, he—

Switches to the videocamera, and records his bulge swiping eagerly over Dave’s chin and cheeks until it locates the waiting, wet heat of Dave’s open mouth and plunges right in. Dave groans in relief when it does, and it vibrates up to the root of Karkat’s bulge, and he whimpers in return. Dave doesn’t know he’s started recording but he doesn’t drop the act, making eye contact with the lens as he closes his lips around the tapered end of Karkat’s bulge and slides down, sucking more into his mouth. Karkat groans, unable to help himself. “Fuck, Dave…”

He smirks around Karkat’s bulge as best he can. Karkat remembers Dave showed him a tool to photo capture during a recordin— ah, there, yes, shit. Perfect. Dave starts to bob his head in earnest, going slowly all the way to the root, swallowing around Karkat’s length, and then drawing torturously back off. All he has to do is open his mouth for Karkat’s bulge to squirm wildly back inside, smearing genetic material all over his already swollen lips.

Stopping the recording, Karkat zooms in and focuses just on Dave’s mouth, those full lips stretched around the thickest part of his bulge, and the picture is so good he actually _groans_. Dave pulls off him, lets out a triumphant little _ha_ , and then gives up on the no-hands deal and grabs the tip, rubbing it idly between his thumb and fingers as he starts sucking messy kisses along its length.

The increased pressure sends shocks up his spine, counterpoint to the soft wetness of Dave’s tongue and lips. Karkat threads his fingers into Dave’s hair and strokes fitfully, squirming so much that his first shot is blurry, and the second shot is blurrier. “Slow down, fuck,” he pleads, because _fuck_ does Dave know how to squeeze a bulge. With a little smirk of triumph Dave lets a bit off, loosening his fingers and instead just looping gently around the length, holding it still as he licks slowly up the side. He finally gets a decent shot, his hand in Dave’s hair and Dave still looking smug as shit about the situation.

Karkat doesn’t get the next shot, because Dave is a fucking shitstain who grabs him under the knees and pulls until Karkat slides forward, then leans in and licks him from ass to nook to bulge, then again. The phone lands with a thud against Karkat’s chest and he squirms, embarrassed and _really fucking hot for it_. He’s going to die.

… but not before he lifts a trembling hand and grabs his phone, jamming it as close to his nose as he can to get— nails digging into Dave’s shoulder, legs bent up and spread as far as they’ll go, Dave’s eyes closed in concentration as he slides all the way down on Karkat’s bulge once again. It’s extremely difficult not to come on the spot; he’s forced to set his phone down again, body almost shaking apart because Dave is stroking between his legs in a slow rhythm, not pushing inside but just— touching. Teasing. Nnnghfuck.

Not yet, shit, not yet— he gets a heel against Dave’s shoulder and shoves him away, biting his own lip hard and feeling it cut. Karkat shakes for a desperate handful of seconds as his body seizes up in pre-orgasm. He almost comes anyway with no touch at all, just from listening to Dave’s hard breath as he watches him, but he manages to stave it off, still pent-up and ready to blow at any second.

_Click_.

Karkat opens his eyes. Dave stole his phone and is smiling distantly at the screen. “Fucking damn,” he comments, voice appreciative. Dave stretches his arm as far as it will go and Karkat sees them both on the screen, Dave panting and covered in bulge goo, Karkat’s leg thrown over his shoulder with the rest of his body slumped almost completely horizontal on the couch, his other leg still tucked up beside him.

Self conscious, Karkat consolidates his legs in front of him, looking distantly as his leaking bulge thrashes against his thighs, angry at him for taking Dave away. He sucks in a deep breath, then gives Dave a contemplative look. “Wanna…?” he tosses his head at the couch, scooting over to make room for Dave.

With a wordless sound of agreement Dave hops back up, still clutching Karkat’s phone. Karkat rolls onto his back and spreads his legs in a way that hopefully looks inviting. Dave moves as if to put his mouth back where it was before, but Karkat shakes his head. Dave hums a question. “Your bulge,” Karkat says, cheeks heating. Smiling distantly, Dave kisses the top of his knee (scarred and rough) and goes to his knees, shuffling forward until their hips are in line and then presses them together, and Karkat doesn’t know if the picture he takes is of his face the moment their bulges achieve contact, or if it’s of said junk, but he hopes it turned out good either way.

His bulge immediately wraps around Dave’s, smooth and firm and pulsing; Dave angles the phone, definitely capturing their crotch area now. Karkat thinks of— not his current vantage point, but seeing it from Dave’s, looking down from his flat stomach to his erect bulge, wrapped in Karkat’s, bright red and leaking. He throws a hand over his face and _keens_ , then does it again when Dave is apparently satisfied with the shot and starts to move his hips. He rocks real nice and steady, drawing out the pressure of each stroke. A series of small, pleading noises escapes Karkat’s lips and doesn’t stop, escalating when Dave leans forward to suck at his neck.

Dave gets a picture of them from the side, but Karkat doesn’t see the details because he has his hands over his face, grounding him as Dave speeds up, breath becoming more ragged as he nears his own release. “Fuck, ‘kat,” he groans, burying his face in Karkat’s chest.

Karkat spares a hand to gently card through Dave’s hair, encouraging in the way he can’t make his words emulate, fingers trembling all the while. He’s glad Dave has the phone, because he’s vibrating his damn molecules apart.

When he clenches so does his bulge, squeezing around Dave’s length, and there’s a clatter as Dave drops Karkat’s new, expensive piece of technology. He wraps his arms around Karkat’s body, clutching Karkat against him and gasps a chorus of sounds that harmonize with Karkat’s own. Karkat clutches him back, eyes squeezed closed, and lets it wash over him, the mind-addling friction, the heat, the sweat, and just— Dave, clutching him, whispering ragged little comments of love and encouragement, most he can’t even understand but he _knows_ and it tightens in his gut, prickling at the base of his bulge and in his throbbing nook.

“Yeah babe,” Dave groans, voice hitching and shuddering (his hips twitch, thrusts no longer smooth and controlled). “C’mon, let me have it—”

Close, _so_ close— fuck, _fuck_. Dave worms a hand between them and grabs their combined lengths, squeezing his fingers in the perfect little rhythm and digs his teeth into Karkat’s chest and he comes, nook gushing and bulge dripping thick strings of genetic material, oozing around Dave’s cock. Within seconds he’s oversensitive, practically crying as he tries to squirm away from the contact. Dave obliges him, pulling a few inches back but staying between Karkat’s legs as he grips his red-slicked shaft, gives several rapid pulls, and then clenches as he spurts over Karkat’s already dripping stomach and chest.

He trembles after, hovering with his eyes closed and mouth open, and then slumps to the side of the couch. An eye cracks open, inspecting the mess on both their laps. Dave’s boxer briefs, which never quite made it off, are a soaked mess, sticking to his balls.

… ew.

“Ugh. Grab the phone?” Dave suggests, limp where he’s propped up.

“You do it,” Karkat complains, throwing his wrist over his eyes. He’s sure the cumshot is a necessary addition but fuck it if he is moving. Dave’s the one who dropped the phone on the floor—he can pick it up.

Groaning, Dave continues not moving for several seconds. Finally he pushes himself up, reaching down to drag the phone off the floor. “You better not have broken it,” Karkat grunts.

“Shut up,” says Dave, fiddling it back on. His face goes still with concentration as he snaps a few pictures of Karkat’s damp crotch, bulge already receded, and cum-soaked stomach. “Here, it’s fine,” he grouses, handing the phone back to Karkat, but he doesn’t look particularly bothered when Karkat lazily gets a shot of Dave hovering over him, arms on either side of his hips, looking totally well-fucked.

“Stop looking so goddamn ravished,” Karkat huffs, blushing at how— just, natural and confident Dave looks, not locked down or unsure. Totally in his element, if his element is naked and dripping in front of a camera. Ha.

“Nah,” says Dave, and bends down to lick some of the genetic material off Karkat’s chest.

“Gross,” says Karkat, but he takes a picture anyway.

He’s pretty done, after that, and kicks at Dave mercilessly until he gets off the couch and fetches Karkat a towel and some water. Once Karkat is dried and rehydrated he pushes Dave onto his back so he can curl up on his chest, purring quietly. A couple minutes pass and he gets curious, though, and pulls the phone out, opening the gallery to start flicking through the spoils. Dave snags it before he can get too far, holds his arm up over them (has to switch back to the camera app, making a sound of annoyance) and gets Karkat balled up on him like a kitten, except way less innocent and way more needing-a-shower.

“Give it back,” Karkat bitches, but he doesn’t really mind. Dave obliges him anyway.

Dave’s hand fits to the small of his back and Karkat listens to him breathe as he inspects the pictures, deleting one or two of himself surreptitiously. He finally gets to the most recent picture and hums, then takes one last shot, a secret smile on his lips as he peers up from Dave’s chest.

Mm… not bad, actually. He’ll keep it.

Turning off the phone, Karkat pulls it close to him, then shuts his eyes and matches his inhales to Dave’s. The rhythm stutters after a few moments in sync, and Dave predictably ruins it by talking: “So, when are we gonna go to Walgreens to get these babies printed out for the family photo album?” Goddamn it.


End file.
